Emma Clark had never been to an auction before - it was the eye  catching notice that lured her inside.

 

‘You’ll never know what you want until you look’  read the cheerful message propped against the tree in Westrill High Street.

 

’So come inside and see! General auction Sale. Today!’

 

Emma had only just moved to Westrill. A new job and a new life had beckoned with her new management job at Marsden’s Motor Factors, and she had settled in immediately. It was as if she had lived in the busy little market town all her life, she thought. And when she saw Thimble Cottage for sale, in a leafy corner of Church Lane,  she knew it was the very place for her!

Why, she even sold her smart motorcar to finance such a monumental step; on the basis that a car was just a car, but there was only one Thimble Cottage, with it’s views of rolling moorland beyond the town, it’s sheltered little garden, it’s wood-burning stove.

In a rush of enthusiasm she even told her mum and dad that the new job and the new house would kick start a new fitness regime! She would take up jogging. Power walking. She would even cycle to work

Despite the laughter this caused amongst her friends and family, Emma was determined  - moving to Westrill would be the start of her brand new life. No more lounging in bed until Sunday lunchtime. No more tall, dark and handsome boyfriends like Carl (too good looking for their own good - and yours, mum had always muttered darkly. The problem being, which annoyed Emma, was that her Mum was always right!) No more chocolate! She would be turning over a new leaf!

The trouble was no-one took her seriously! So when she saw the auction sign out shopping that Saturday morning, her first thought was she might be able to find a little something for Thimble Cottage - a side table, say, or a cosy armchair. It was only as an afterthought she realised she might find a cheap and sensible bicycle. And that would show everyone she meant what she said!

The old cinema - that looked as if it had been converted from a Victorian chapel - was called Picturedrome Auctions. There was a high beamed ceiling, a handsome gallery, the smell of fresh white paint. The room was packed with goods of all description, row upon row of furniture and household effects, tables laden with cardboard boxes packed with crockery, prints, books, cameras. Emma was fascinated.

She roamed the aisles and poked about, just like everyone else. But the sale was due to start in twenty minutes. And she realised she couldn’t see little sidetables properly because of boxes upon them, nor cosy armchairs because people were sitting on all of them, waiting for the sale to begin. Oh, well…….!

She would come to the next sale on the proper viewing day, she promised herself, when she could look properly, without rushing…..

But just as she was about to fight her way outside again, back through the crowd, she spotted a bicycle! Or, rather, two of them.

A smart silver racing bike caught her eye - the sort with twenty one gears and an aerodynamic saddle - and Emma suddenly imagined herself cycling like the wind, hunched down over the drop handlebars, blonde hair streaming. She smiled to herself at this flight of fancy, and involuntarily moved towards it.

The wonderful speed machine was propped against a dark blue tricycle with a wicker basket strapped to it’s handlebars. Not a children’s tricycle, she realised with surprise, but a tricycle for an adult.

It looked dusty and neglected, but had an opening box onthe back that would take an entire week’s groceries. A bicycle for someone sensible and practical, quite unlike herself! But then she remembered she had sold her car. And what she had promised everyone about her new fitness regime. And about cycling to work.

She turned back, reached out to touch the sleek silver machine.

“It’s a Fearon Flier. Handbuilt, a classic,” announced a voice beside her.

Emma turned. Met the cobalt blue eyes of possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was tall and lean, and she knew he would be fit, and strong and graceful. His air of self confidence, even the set of his shoulders, proclaimed this. And black wavy hair and a firm jaw line only confirmed the impression.

“Oh! I see!” Emma nodded her head, trying to give the impression of being interested. Impressed, even. Although whether that was by  the bicycle, the handsome young man, or his information, she wasn’t quite certain.

“Have a seat,” said the handsome young man generously, offering her the place beside him on a chintz covered chair, as he perched on the arm and looked entirely at ease.

“Thank you,” said Emma, and sat down.

 “My name’s David Harris,” said the young man. “Are you interested in that bike?” he asked, inclining his head in the direction of the Fearon Flier.

“I could be,” Emma said neutrally. “I’m Emma Clarke. I’m looking for a bike.”

“Delighted to meet you, Emma Clarke. I‘m here for a bike too,” confided David

Harris. “I compete, you know. Time trials, that sort of thing. So I mean to have that bike.”

Emma smiled at him.

“Good luck,” she said.

He smiled back. It was a wonderful smile, irresistible and charming. Emma was charmed. However could she not be?

The sale was suddenly about to begin. A tousled young man with spikey fair hair, wearing a crumpled but fashionable suit, took to the auctioneer’s rostrum, banged his gavel on the desk to attract everyone’s attention, and the sale began.

 

Sofas and wardrobes, chairs and paintings….the young man took them all - and sold them all -at what seemed an incredible speed to a saleroom novice like Emma. In fact she became quite hypnotised by the auctioneer’s voice and smile and theatrical style, the descriptions of the lots, the rhythm of the whole business.

The young auctioneer was brisk and businesslike, yet often amusing, always at ease.

His porter moved around the room pointing at the current lot, holding some things up to be seen, and Emma realised she was actually enjoying herself! This was even better than reality television!

Eventually, towards the end of the sale, the porter approached the bicycles, sweeping an arm in the direction of the Fearon Flier.

 “Who’ll start me with a bid for this handsome racing bike?” the auctioneer asked.

 

 

“Five pounds!” Emma raised a hand firmly. She couldn’t resist it. The auctioneer pointed at her.

“A maiden bid from - if I may say so - a very pretty maiden!” declared the young auctioneer gallantly, catching her eye, smiling for her alone. The people in the room laughed and nodded.

Emma found herself blushing! And very annoyed at herself for doing so! Really!

Whatever had come over her?

David Harris, however, scowled, surprised.

“Twenty pounds!” he called firmly.

“Your bid, sir!” cried the auctioneer, pointing at him. But he looked expectantly at Emma.

“Thirty!” said Emma, obediently. Feeling like an auction room veteran.

 “Forty!”

“Fifty!” said Emma. Who then instantly thought: ‘What am I doing? Why am I bidding….?‘ She had heard of people making unwanted auction purchases, being caught up in the heat and excitement of the moment!

“Neck and neck between the couple on the chintz armchair!” declared the auctioneer.

Emma could swear that, behind his neutral, professional expression, the auctioneer wanted to grin.

“Sixty!” said David Harris. “What are you doing bidding against me?” he hissed at Emma.

Emma shrugged. Did she really want to own this smart cycle? Was it auction fever? Or a simple sense of mischief that made her start the bidding?

“Seventy!” cried another voice firmly from the far side of the room. And then the bidding war was off in earnest as Emma sat back and watched, enthralled.

David Harris got his Fearon Flier, in the end. Just like he said he would. The bidding reached into three figures.

“A wonderful buy for a discerning cyclist!” cried the auctioneer finally. “Yours, Mr Harris, thank you! And you have a real bargain there!”

David Harris rose from the chintz chair to arrange payment.

“Did you really want that racing bike?” he asked, as if intrigued.

Emma shook her head.

“Far too expensive for me,” she said, and watched him go.

She bought the dusty old blue tricycle instead. No-one else seemed to want it, and she was the only bidder. A bargain at twenty five pounds, she decided. Agreeing with the young auctioneer.

When she reached the office to pay for her tricycle, joining the queue of purchasers, David Harris was just leaving.

“You bought something after all!” he exclaimed. “Not - the tricycle?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“What a surprise! So you really didn’t want the Fearon Flier?”

“I was very tempted,” she admitted. “But I knew several other people were interested in it too - I’d overheard them talking about it  - so I knew the price would rocket. I think I just wanted to know I’d played a part in the history of such a glamorous machine!”

“I did wonder! Only I noticed Jamie Summers, the auctioneer, had a very special smile when looking in your direction….”

“I don’t think so!” Emma exclaimed. “I’ve never seen him before - in fact, this is the first time I’ve even been to an auction sale! And I‘ve only just moved to Westrill.”

Emma laughed. She couldn’t help it. The arrogance of that young man!

“Really? Then perhaps you need someone to show you the sights?” David Harris offered gallantly and very smoothly. “So what about me?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Emma demurred. “After all, I’d never keep up with you! 

“Sorry?”

“Me on my old trike. You on your Fearon Flier,” she explained. “I‘d be stopping to watch the wildlife, enjoy the view, listen to the bird‘s sing. You would be tearing along, head down, oblivious to everything.”

David Harris looked at her oddly.

“Perhaps I would,” he said slowly.

“But I’m sure I’ll see you again,” Emma added cheerfully. “See you about town. Look out for me and my old trike on your travels.”

David Harris put his head back and laughed.

“It’s a date!” he said.

She watched him collect his precious Fearon Flier and leave Picturedrome Auctions.

And shook her head, still smiling at their brief encounter. And how much he had reminded her of Carl……

He was so like Carl had been, she thought, waiting to pay for her tricycle. Too handsome, too charming. Too impressed by the shiny and new. But this time the charm had not worked, and she had not been swayed. Goodness, she thought:  am I becoming more discerning at last? Would Mum be proud of me? Me and my old tricycle?

“You’ll need to pump the tyres. And show this old beauty a duster before you attempt to ride it.”

Her rueful musings were interrupted by a voice, as someone stood before her, holding the trike.

Jamie Summers waited patiently as Emma paid her money, took her receipt.

He couldn’t be more different to either Carl - or David, she thought. Naturally tousled, despite the smart suit; Emma had the impression he was inherently untidy, would always need someone on hand to straighten his tie, check his shoes were polished, that he had a clean hankie.

But his smile was wise, his eyes humorous. The businesslike but relaxed attitude was still there, even after he had left his auctioneer’s stand, his professional routine, behind him.

“I’d better take my old beauty home,” Emma said. And this time there was something special in her smile, too. And something - she realised, with a warm, comforting feeling - in his.

“You’ll need to borrow a bicycle pump,” Jamie Summers explained. “The tyres are good, they just need some air. I’ve got a pump in my office…….”

He sped away, was back before she could tell him not to bother, even if she had  wanted to.

“It’s the pump from my own bike - I keep it in the office so it doesn’t get lost,” he said.

“You cycle to work?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps it was - in a little market town like Westrill. “The company van is far too large to take home at night! And any way, I like to cycle. I can stop and speak to people, admire the view, enjoy the countryside…..” he paused, then added carefully….”You can’t do that so easily on a racing bike. But I suppose you know that?”

“I suppose I do,” Emma agreed. Then, very daringly added: “But perhaps you’d like to tell a newcomer like me more about the sights and sounds of Westrill?”

Jamie Summers grinned broadly at her, relaxed and finally letting go of his grip on the old blue tricycle.

“I thought you’d never ask!” he said. “A meal at Bonington’s Restaurant this evening might be a good idea. As a way to start your local information research, that is?”

 “It’s a date!” Emma agreed, feeling happier and more positive than she had for a long time.

“Excellent!” beamed Jamie Summers. Then he frowned. Hesitated. “Unless you were planning to get to know David Harris better, that is? You looked very friendly earlier, sharing that chintz armchair……”

“David and I know and understand each other perfectly,” Emma said with sudden and complete confidence. “He belongs with his Fearon Flier, racing through life and the countryside, and I belong on this little old trike - admiring the view and listening to the birdsong.”

Like someone else I’ve just met, Emma reflected. It seemed a relaxed enough attitude to share with Jamie from the first. An attitude that wouldn’t suit David. And certainly wouldn’t have suited Carl. But it suited the new Emma, she realised, beginning her new life in a new cottage and a new town with a new relaxed style. And - just perhaps - with Jamie Summers!

The thought pleased her - very much. Jamie did not have the darkly handsome romantic looks she was usually attracted to. But perhaps that was good?

Another part of the new Emma!

Waving her away from Picturedrome Auctions with a cheerful: “See you at eight o‘clock, then!” Jamie Summers frowned.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t  prefer David Harris and his Fearon Flier?” he asked.

Emma leant forwards and kissed him lightly on the nose. He didn’t have to tell her that he didn’t think he was good looking or attractive. Didn’t think he had charm or personality. That he had been at school with David Harris, and it had always been David who attracted the prettiest girls, the hectic social life, been the envy of his friends. Emma knew all that by instinct. Because she felt as if she had already known Jamie Summers for her whole life long……

“I’m positive” she said with a chuckle in her voice, and her clear blue eyes looked long and hard into Jamie’s suddenly troubled grey ones.

“Don’t tell David this - and don’t laugh,” she whispered earnestly. “But I’ve never, ever, ridden a bicycle before. I wouldn’t know what to do with a Fearon Flier. But even I know it’s almost impossible to fall off a tricycle - and an adult novice cyclist has to start somewhere!”

He nodded, understanding now. Helped her dust the old trike, take it into the street.

They were both chuckling as she carefully put her handbag into the basket on the handlebars, clutched the grips fiercely, and wobbled slowly away down the High Street.

He was still standing by the kerb, watching her, feeling something momentous, something wonderful, had just happened to him, when she turned to look back, daringly lifted one hand to wave. To him!

Jamie Summers waved back. This evening he vowed he would tell her how accomplished - and how pretty - she had looked as she cycled away. The tricycle was a great bargain for her.

But Emma Clarke herself had been his great discovery at the saleroom that day. Life was full of surprises - as well as bargains - decided the young auctioneer! And today, Jamie thought, he might just have found the finest and most precious bargain of his life. Not the old blue tricycle. But Emma!

 

He went back to work.

And he couldn’t stop smiling...